On The Radio
by Hallon
Summary: Takes place late in the fall after season 7 ended. Rory is visiting her mother on a weekend off from the campaign trail and stumbles on someone from her past.
1. Preface

**On The Radio**

 **A/N:** Takes place late in the fall after season 7 ended. Rory is visiting her mother on a weekend off from the campaign trail and stumbles on someone from her past.

 **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls is not mine. Not now, not ever.

* * *

 **Preface**

Rory sat down at the kitchen table, her hands eagerly grasping the steaming coffee cup. It was a rare thing since graduation to be back in her home town and the house she grew up in, but it was always something she looked forward to.

This time she was only home for two days, and time with her mother had been cut short by an emergency at the Dragonfly, which left her alone in the house this late morning.

Her computer was playing a New York radio station, but she barely listened at the moment. There had been a long winding report about the resent crisis in Afghanistan and she had done enough research about what was going on to tell that most facts were probably accurate, so she had tuned out the monotone voice of the reporter.

Now there was a commercial break, and after that a new interview in _The Book Club_.

That was what she was waiting for. One of her colleagues on the campaign trail had recommended it to her, almost on her first day, and for the past six months she'd made it a habit of tuning in every Sunday, and it bugged her every time she for some reason couldn't.

She always enjoyed those interviews, unconventional as they usually were, and often found herself buying a book by the author if she hadn't already read it.

But for now she ignored the annoying jingles and peppy voices trying to interest her in a new car, or trip, or bank loan, and instead concentrated on the wonderful taste of her favorite drink.

She was so engrossed in her cup that she didn't hear the intro for the program, or the introduction of the author, and then she almost choked on her coffee when she heard the voice that greeted the host.

It was a voice she would recognize anywhere. Stunned, she leaned closer to the computer, coffee forgotten, and listened.


	2. Part 1 - Surprise

**On The Radio**

* * *

 **Part 1 - Surprise**

"Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for having me."

"I must say, I'm a bit surprised you agreed."

"Life's all about surprises."

"Seriously though, you've never done any interviews before. Why now?"

"At some point all starving artists have to realize there's more to being a writer than writing."

"I wouldn't exactly call you starving."

"Well, you know, figure of speech. But really; if you want to make a living out of writing, people actually have to buy your books."

"I'd say you're well on your way. This is only your second book, and it's already on _The_ _Time's_ best seller list."

"Yeah, that's pretty cool. But I'm also not quitting my job any time soon."

"That's right. You actually work at the publishing house that released your first novel?"

"You are correct."

"How did that happen?"

"Well, the guys needed someone more on board as editor, and for some reason they thought I'd be good at the job."

"Apparently you were."

"I'm still there, so…"

"And what does it entail to be an editor at _Truncheon_?"

"Mostly just a lot of what I'd already done my whole life. Lots of reading and commenting of said reading. Far from everything we get is anything good, but the few ones that are, more than make up for it."

"It sounds like you like your job."

"I get to read all day for a living. What's not to like?"

"Can't argue with that."

"I actually really enjoy the whole process. From reading the first rough draft, to having helped a new author get his or her book out there to the public. It's thoroughly satisfying."

"I think I can safely assume then, that you wouldn't quit either way."

"You might be correct in that too."

"Is it the same feeling when it's your own book?"

"Oh, no! Far from it."

"How so?"

"Well, at least for me, having my own book published, and out there for all the world to see, is the most harrowing experience I've ever had. But, at the same time, there's this enormous sense of accomplishment. It's hard to explain."

"Which one outweighs the other?"

"So far, I'm not sure. Maybe if you ask me in another six months."

"It must feel great though, with how well the new book has been received so far."

"It does."

"I'd imagine the resent reviews have played their part in the success of the book as well."

"Maybe. To be honest, I haven't read any of them."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I guess I haven't felt the urge to be dissected in writing yet."

"You should. I can almost guarantee you won't be disappointed.

"So I've heard. My coworkers, who also happens to be my flat mates, are actually collecting every single one they can get their hands on as we speak. I suppose they'll have glued them up on the walls of my room by the time I get back home."

"I'm sure you're looking forward to that."

"Nah, it's fine. I don't mind really. They're good guys."

"I know they are. So…I hear you've all grown quite close over the years."

"We have. I'd say we're more friends than coworkers these days."

"That must be so great; to get along that well with the people you work with."

"It is. Though it makes the line between work and personal life more than a little blurry at times. Especially since we also live together. But yeah, it's nice. I honestly wouldn't want it any other way."

"I bet you could tell some embarrassing stories."

"Oh, I could. But, so could they, so we have this sort of pact, I guess you could call it, that we never bring any of them up publicly."

"Oh, that's too bad. I was looking forward to some gossip."

"Then you went to the wrong source."

"Yeah, apparently I did. So, before we stray too far away, why don't we get to the actual book?"

"Sure."

"How would you describe your book?"

"It's basically a collection of short stories, detailing a single day in the life of everyday people from all walks of life, spread out all over the country."

"But at the same time, it's so much more."

"There could be."

"Oh, there definitely is. I have to tell you, when I got to the end, I was literally holding my breath."

"I'm glad you didn't suffocate."

"Yeah, that would've been a tragic end."

"Not to mention the bad publicity."

"Ouch."

"Sorry. Bad joke."

"Seriously though, your story was so wonderful and at the same time so heartbreaking, that I couldn't pick up another book for several days."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. It was a good thing."

"If you say so."

"So, Jess, what inspired you to write this amazing story?"

"I don't know if I'd call it amazing."

"Humble much?"

"Always. But to answer your question, I guess I've had this idea, in some form or other, in the back of my mind for as long as I can remember."

"Oh. Really?"

"Yeah. It's not like I had the story in my head, more like the concept of it. It's... Fuck. It's hard to talk about this without giving away anything."

"I can see that."

"Oh, right. Sorry, I'll try to rein my mouth in harder."

"Don't worry about it. And I totally know what you mean. I've almost slipped up twice so far, and we haven't even really gotten to the story yet."

"This is why I don't do interviews. It's hard to always think about what you're saying."

"I think you're doing well so far."

"Thanks. And besides, I've never exactly been the most talkative guy in the world, so this is kinda weird. I think my jaw will be sore tomorrow actually."

"I hope it won't come to that."

"We'll see."

"Ok then. Let's get back on track again. What made you decide to finally start writing it?"

"Well... About a year and a half ago something happened that made me take a hard look at my whole life, and the choices I'd made. And it all just fell into place. It was the right time."

"That sounds ominous."

"Maybe."

"And it will make a perfect cliffhanger. We'll get back to Jess Mariano and his book _Contingent_ after this song. And it's actually one you chose."

"It is. It's something that I listened to a lot when I wrote this book, so it felt fitting to play it here."

"Ok. Would you like to do the honors then?"

"Oh, sure. Well, here is _The Root Of All Evil_ by _Dream Theatre_."

* * *

As the first chords started up, Rory sank back into her chair, swallowing down a lump in her throat. Her head was swimming with questions, one more prominent than the others.

A year and a half ago. That's about as long as it had been since she went to see him at Truncheon. Was that what he had been talking about? Had she been what set him off on this path that led to him writing one of the best books she'd ever read?

As she listened to the song, she could feel the tears fall down her cheeks. The raw emotions in the lyrics had her insides twisting uncomfortably.

She hadn't heard from, or contacted him, since that night, always suppressing the urge every time it came over her, which had been surprisingly often, considering how she left things.

But then again, she had felt the same after he left her at the end of her senior year of high school, and, honestly, it hadn't really gone away with time. Over the years, it had just changed to a dull ache in her chest that she had forced herself to get used to.

Because she couldn't do anything about it. He hurt her, badly, and forgiving him for that had never been an option. Or more accurately; she had never allowed it to be an option.

It was why she sent him away after her first year at Yale, when he came bearing his ridiculous proposal to come away with him.

It was why she, just a week later, let Dean talk her into bed, and later into their third, disastrous, and final, relationship.

She had wanted to, no needed to, prove that she didn't, ironically enough, need him. That she could go on with her life, and be happy, despite having known him. Despite knowing what she could have had, had they not been too young, too arrogant, too insecure, too selfish, and too many other things.

And then he had come back, at her all time low, only to end up being the one person she needed to get back on track, back to her life, her dreams, her family.

And she had repaid him by coming to visit him, giving him the impression that she was single, and almost using him to get back at Logan.

She always got a bad taste in her mouth thinking of her actions that night. The worst thing was that she wasn't entirely sure she hadn't had any ulterior motives when coming there. And that possibility scared her, because it made her question herself, who she was, and what kind of impression she left on other people.

And she didn't want to dissect those thoughts too thoroughly, because she wasn't sure she would like what she found.

The truth was that she had cheated on both Dean and Logan. And both times it had been with Jess. It didn't matter that it was just a kiss, it only mattered that it happened. And she wasn't ready to figure out what that meant.

She was startled out of her thoughts as the last chords of the song blended into the familiar notes announcing the program was starting back up.


	3. Part 2 - Friends

**On The Radio**

* * *

 **Part 2 - Friends**

"Welcome back to _The Book Club_ and this week's interview. I'm Jane Stanton, and today I'm here with former New Yorker, Jess Mariano. We're talking about his new book, _Contingent_ , and just before the song we got a teaser about some deep soul searching that preceded the book."

"I wouldn't go quite that far, but yeah, it was a bit of a turning point for me."

"And you said you listened to this song a lot while writing."

"I did. Or well, not just this song, but it's the one that felt most…right, I suppose, in the moment."

"It's rather dark, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Is it something you identified with at the time?"

"Yes."

"Wow. That was straight forward."

"I'm usually not one to beat around the bush."

"No, you're not."

"I was actually at the last concert of their _Octavarium_ tour back in April, the one at _Radio City Music Hall_ here in New York."

"Oh, you were?"

"Yeah. It was right around the time I was finishing up my book, and I had the opportunity to get tickets. Couldn't pass it up."

"Of course not. So, did that help with the book as well?"

"Well it… Oh hell, let's just cut the crap ok?"

"Jess?"

"Oh, come on Jane. This is ridiculous. You've already slipped up at least three times. No one's gonna believe we don't know each other anyway."

"I suppose you're right. Although, I have to say, this must be the most unusual, and unprofessional, interview I've ever conducted."

"You already knew that when you first asked me to come here."

"I suppose my great idea came biting me in the ass, huh?"

"Nah, we can still do the interview. It'll just be as two friends, and not complete strangers."

"Ok then. And, just for full disclosure, we should probably tell the listeners that we grew up together, in this very city."

"Yeah, probably."

"You know, you've mellowed a lot since then."

"So have you."

"I suppose."

"No green hair anymore."

"And no piercings."

"I was gonna say no tattoos, but that would be a lie."

"Unless you got them removed."

"You know I wouldn't."

"I know."

"Thanks for the tickets to _Dream Theatre_ , by the way."

"You're very welcome. It was a great show."

"It was."

"So…maybe we should try to get back to the actual interview? We still haven't really talked about your book."

"Let's get to it then."

"Ok, but first, I have to ask. This thing that happened, that made you start writing it. Can you tell us anything about that?"

"No."

"Not even a tiny little detail?"

"It wouldn't be fair to talk about it like this."

"Fair to whom?"

"Anyone."

"Ok then. I will let it go."

"Thank you."

"For now."

"Wouldn't expect anything else."

"The actual events aside, did writing the book help you work through it?"

"I suppose it did. I've made my peace with my past, I suppose you could say. There are a lot of things I regret, but it won't help me, or anyone else for that matter, to dwell on them."

"Nice speech."

"Yeah, practiced that one in the mirror this morning."

"That I would've liked to see."

"Maybe some other time."

"So, back on track, right?"

"Right."

"There are so many aspects to this book. Everything from the very top of human emotions, to the very bottom. It's quite a journey."

"That's what life is. For me at least."

"But there's everything in there. A happy family father, the corporate drone being bullied by his boss and drawing parallels to his childhood, the drug addict living on the streets, I could go on. Where did you draw your inspiration from?"

"All around me."

"What do you mean?"

"I watch people. Study them if you like. If you're observant, you pick up on the things that make them who they are, what drives them."

"You a stalker now?"

"Of course. Didn't you know?"

"I always suspected."

"Nice. Thanks. Seriously though… If you spend an hour in a diner, you see a lot of people ordering food. If you stay a day, you see a lot more people doing the same. If you do it for a week, you start to recognize them, see the patterns."

"You've spent a lot of time in diners then?"

"Not just diners. Although, I did used to work in one a few years back. It gave me some insight."

"Oh, you did? I can't really picture you in a diner."

"Neither could I. Then I...lived with my uncle in this small town in Connecticut for a while. He owned a diner. The rest is history."

"Right. You told me about that town. From what I recall, it would be the perfect place to find inspiration."

"It is, yeah. Lots of crazy people, but they mostly mean well."

"You ever been back?"

"A few times. Liz, my mother, actually lives there now as well, with her husband and my little sister, so I'll probably have to accept the fact that I too will be sucked into the madness in some way or other, sooner or later."

"You don't seem too upset about that."

"Nah, I've come a long way from the angry kid who thought of it as his very own version of hell."

"You've grown up."

"Way to make me feel old."

"You're welcome."

"Very funny. But anyway, the point is, there are people everywhere, living their lives, some sad, some happy, some angry, most of them a little bit of everything, everyone with their own problems, their own stories. If you just care enough to look past the façade, to actually see what's there, you can learn a lot about the human race, and yourself in the process."

"Ok. Maybe we can grab a coffee someday, and you can show me."

"Now, Jane, are you asking for a date? What would Monica think if she heard you?"

"I see you haven't changed that much after all."

"Nah, people rarely do."

"True enough. So, after this less than professional second part of this sorry excuse of an interview, it is now time for some more information of the loose facts variety. We will be back soon, and maybe we will even talk about the actual book."

"Wouldn't count on it."

"Stay tuned, and you'll find out."

* * *

The program jingle started playing, followed by another run of commercials.

Rory sat stunned, staring out into space, because she'd rarely heard Jess sound this, for lack of better word, happy and at ease. And it was a strange feeling, something between relief, happiness and envy. The latter because, deep down, she had always wanted to be the one to make him feel that way.

But that kind of thinking at this point was not only crazy, but extremely selfish, something she had been trying to convince herself she was not. Especially not concerning him.

The problem, though, if she were being totally honest, was that she'd always been selfish. Especially concerning him.

Frowning at her own admission, she picked up her now forgotten coffee, only to have her frown deepen at the realization that it had gone all cold.

With a defeated sigh she gave up all thoughts of distractions, and, for once, took a hard look at her deeply buried feelings for Jess Mariano.

It was almost frightening to realize, after all this time, and everything that had happened, that she still had very strong, and very real, feelings for him.

What they were she didn't quite know, and she was afraid to find out. But she felt it was safe to say that she clearly wasn't as over him as she had convinced both herself and everyone else through the years.

And suddenly she recalled how she'd been gushing about his book to the other reporters on the bus, even taking out her now well-worn copy of _The Subsect_ if the opportunity arose. She hadn't really noticed then, but now that she thought back, there had definitely been a lot of meaningful glances, and comments that she had just talked right through.

Groaning, she buried her head in her hands, finally realizing she'd been acting like a smitten school girl these past couple of months.

Then she wondered how much her mother had noticed. How much had she let on in their phone calls? What exactly had she let slip?

She quickly came to terms with the fact that there was no way Lorelai didn't at least suspect, which caused another groan, just as the program jingle was heard again.


	4. Part 3 - Choices

**On The Radio**

* * *

 **Part 3 - Choices**

"This is Jane Stanton, and once again I welcome you back to _The Book Club_ , and this week's interview with my old friend Jess Mariano."

"Huh."

"What's that?"

"Nothing. I was just half expecting a long rant about old friends."

"Now you have to explain."

"Just something another old friend did a while back."

"Oh. Someone I'd know?"

"No. This was from another life entirely."

"Any connection to the relocation to the uncle you mentioned earlier?"

"You could say that."

"And I'm wasting my breath trying to wrangle anything more out of you?"

"Pretty much."

"Can't blame a girl for trying."

"Oh, I could. But don't worry, I won't."

"That's very considerate of you."

"You're hilarious."

"What do you say we move on from this topic before it gets ugly?"

"That would probably be wise."

"So then, back to your book. As you yourself said; it's almost a collection of short stories."

"Yes, almost."

"But when you read it, when you get further into the story, you start to realize that there's something more to it."

"That was the idea."

"The way these stories intertwine, how the people in them connect to each other, it's fascinating to watch it unfold."

"Thank you."

"You said earlier that you've always had this idea. Could you elaborate on that?"

"Oh, well. I've always felt strongly that the choices we make, whether they're good or bad, shape us into the people we become."

"That's probably true."

"I think so. And most of the time, these choices aren't that important. Whether you put on a red or green shirt in the morning probably won't have much impact on your life, apart from that particular day."

"Unless you wear green and happen to end up in the Red Sox supporter section."

"Well, there's that, but the likelihood of that happening is pretty slim, I'd presume."

"You never know."

"No. And that's pretty much my point. You can never know for sure what the result will be of the choices you make. And I think most people wonder sometimes what would have happened, had they chosen differently."

"I know I do."

"As do I."

"Well then, Jess. What choices do you regret?"

"A couple in particular stand out, but that's not exactly where I was going with this. These choices don't necessarily have to be things you regret. It could be the opposite."

"Like the family father we mentioned earlier, when he was thinking about that night when he didn't get out of his car?"

"Exactly. It's been years, and he is really happy with his life, and wouldn't change a thing, but he still can't stop himself from thinking about that night from time to time, wondering how his life had been if he had chosen differently."

"It's a pretty intense concept."

"Maybe."

"Now, I have to ask. And this might be a bit of an unfair question, considering I know things about your life that probably very few others do. But, how much of this book is really based on your own life? Is it a veiled autobiography you've written?"

"I knew you'd ask that eventually."

"You did, huh?"

"Of course. I know you."

"Yeah. You do. And just to be clear. You have no obligation to answer."

"I know. But it's a fair question. And I assume you're mostly wondering about the bullied kid and the junky. That's why you mentioned them specifically. The one I used to be, and the one I could've been."

"Well, yes."

"Maybe they are me, or a potential me, in some way. I don't really know. Did I use my experiences when writing? Of course. I think all authors do that, at least to some extent. But no, I wouldn't say they are me."

"But they gave you a starting point."

"Exactly. This book needed to be told from all of these different angles, and it's only natural that some of them coincide with my life."

"So, no autobiography?"

"Not yet."

"But there could be?"

"Who knows? Maybe I've just not gotten there yet?"

"Oh, so maybe it's a prediction? Maybe you'll be the happy family father in the future?"

"Oh, I doubt that."

"Why not?"

"I just don't think it's for me."

"Haven't found your soul mate yet?"

"No."

"That was harsh. Did I hit a nerve?"

"No nerve. I've probably just grown a bit too cynical to believe in soul mates."

"But that answer tells me there was a time when you did."

"Maybe. But that's all childish fantasies really. Life just doesn't work that way for most people."

"But you could be one of the lucky ones. As you yourself said, you never know."

"True. Still, I don't really see that happening."

"I'm still rooting for you though."

"Thanks."

"Ouch. That one brought me way back in time."

"You're welcome."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Maybe some of your luck will rub off on me."

"You're just saying that to make me stop asking about your love life, aren't you?"

"Would I do such a thing?"

"Ok, I give."

"Honestly though, I really like my life as it is right now."

"Well, that's good. And it brings us up to the second song of this program."

"Nice segue."

"You can't win them all. But this song is also one of your choice. Want to tell us more?"

"Full disclosure?"

"Of course."

"Ok then. There was supposed to be some inane radio friendly pop crap here, but I just literally a minute ago asked to get it changed. Because this song is the perfect fit after the talk we just had."

"That is true. So, here comes _On the Radio_ with _Regina Spektor_.

"Enjoy."

* * *

As the song began, Rory could feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes and there was a lump in her throat that made it hard to swallow.

She had never heard him talk that candidly about his own life, ever, and to hear it like this, on the radio, was almost surreal.

The things he had revealed about his teenage and younger self broke her heart. And the offhanded way he spoke about what must have been really painful events made her want to cry even more.

Because she never knew.

And she never really took the time to ask.

Then there was his ultimate dismissal of, and refusal to specify anything about his romantic history. She couldn't get over the thought that he was talking about her. And it felt like a punch to the gut to hear him talk about it the way he did, as something he had left behind, like a child who grows out of believing in Santa.

And it didn't matter that the final break between them had been all her doing. She felt this need to talk to him, to make things right, that defied all logic reasons she could conjure up against it.

Struck with a sudden urge, she got up from her chair, hurried into her old room, and picked up her copy of his book from the night stand, weighing it in her hands while she went back out into the kitchen.

She had first seen it in a book store in Washington DC on one of her rare days off, proudly displayed in the recommendation section, and she had felt such a wave of emotions that she had to leave the store.

A few minutes later she had gone back and bought a copy, spending the rest of the day at the diner next door, reading it from start to finish.

She hadn't known anything about the book before that day, hadn't heard anything from Luke, even though he later confessed that he had known about it. This time she hadn't gotten any late night surprise visit; not that she'd expected it.

And still, when she saw the book on that display, she felt a surge of sorrow and regret that he hadn't shared the news with her personally.

And as she had sat here listening to him talking, she couldn't help feeling as if he'd been talking directly to her, telling her that he had let her go completely.

And it hurt. A lot more than she ever thought possible.

And yet.

She flipped back to the dedication, reading it over and over until the words blurred together and lost all their meaning.

 _It is what it is..._

 _And I will always remember._

She kept staring even after the song ended and the program started again.


	5. Part 4 - Dedication

**On The Radio**

 **Part 4 - Dedication**

"This is Jane Stanton and I welcome all my still remaining listeners back to this, even for me, most unusual interview with my old friend, and author of the book _Contingent_ , Jess Mariano."

"Sorry about that."

"No worries. I'll get my revenge some way or other."

"I'm sure."

"So, the dedication."

"Wow. That was fast, even for you."

"Did you expect anything else?"

"No."

"I'll accept that. But, back to the dedication. There's been a lot of speculation about it from our listeners."

"Ah, so that's what that smug look from your producer was."

"So, who's it for?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Not even a hint?"

"Nope."

"Do you think this person has read the book?"

"Yes."

"You think they know it's for them?"

"Yes."

"So, to the big question. Have you received an answer?"

"I don't think an answer is required."

"That might be, but it's still quite a loaded message."

"That really depends on how you read it."

"And now you're being deliberately evasive."

"Is that so?"

"It is. Which brings me to believe there is some real meaning behind it."

"That's your right, I guess."

"Any connection to the mystery soul mate from your past?"

"Who says there was one?"

"I believe you just did."

"You think so?"

"I know so. But, I also know there's no point continuing this, so let's move on, shall we?"

"Sure."

"From what I can gather, this is really a message to one specific person. Isn't it a bit strange to put it in a book that the whole world can read?"

"So much for moving on, huh?"

"Well, isn't it?"

"Maybe. But there are reasons for it."

"Oh God. I just realized that this person might actually be dead. I'm really sorry if she is."

"No, don't worry. Most definitely alive. Just not in my life anymore."

"Ok, good. I was actually starting to get worried."

"Don't be. I just don't feel comfortable talking about it, especially like this."

"Ok. I'll let it go. But you do realize both I and the listeners will assume this mysterious person is the long lost love of your life."

"You're free to believe whatever you want."

"Evasive as ever."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course not. So, to move on, I'm curious to know what part of this book is your personal favorite."

"Oh, that's a tough one."

"I know. I'm having a hard time choosing too."

"I bet we have different reasons though."

"That might be. So, which is yours?"

"I mostly remember how I felt while writing, and it's hard to separate that from the actual story."

"I think I understand what you mean. So, let me rephrase: what part was your favorite to write?"

"I guess that would have to be the junky."

"Oh, ok. I must say I didn't quite expect that."

"You didn't?"

"No, I honestly thought that would've been the hardest part."

"Yeah, in some ways it was. But at the same time it was rewarding, because I had to bring back and deal with my own experiences. And to be honest, I had never really done that before."

"I can appreciate that."

"And you know; it was very liberating to explore that side of the human consciousness, or maybe lack thereof."

"But in a safe way."

"Exactly."

"So, how did you do your research? I at least assume you didn't do it sitting in a diner."

"No, I didn't. I actually started by rereading a lot of books. _Burroughs_ , _Welsh_ , that kind of thing."

"I should have guessed."

"You really should. But the most useful research was all the countless hours I spent on the streets of Philadelphia. All the days and nights I was out talking to actual people."

"That must have been really tough."

"It was. But at the same time it wasn't. It's hard to explain, but in the end, it was actually almost liberating."

"How come?"

"Well, ever since those days when I very nearly fell into that trap myself, I'd been carrying around this fear that it was really just a matter of time."

"That must've been quite a burden to bear."

"It was. But during my time with these people, despite the fact that every drug you could think to ask for was more or less readily available, and I actually had the money for them, I never really felt that craving for it."

"Really. That's amazing. How?"

"I realized I had found something more important, more thrilling, than any drug I've ever tried."

"Huh. So, what was it?"

"Writing."

"Writing?"

"Simple as that."

"Wow. You're serious."

"Yeah, it wasn't until I sat there with these people, and the option to join them, that I realized I had already found my drug of choice. And it wasn't even chemical."

"So what's it like then for you, writing?"

"There's just this sense of accomplishment that comes with finding that exact tone, or word, or sentence, and knowing it's all your creation, of getting your thoughts and ideas down on paper. It doesn't even matter if anyone will ever read it, just the knowledge that I created it, that it came from my own mind. There is practically nothing else that compares to it."

"Nothing at all?"

"Like I said, practically nothing else."

"I bet I can guess what could."

"Maybe. But that's beside the point."

"Maybe not."

"It's weird really, because all at once that night, I finally acknowledged the very real impact writing has had on me, and my life."

"You've always been writing."

"I have. And I think that's what saved me back when we were kids too. I just didn't realize it until recently."

"That's quite a statement."

"Yeah. But it's true."

"Yeah, I can see how it fits. With some help from that nutty town in Connecticut, maybe?"

"Maybe."

"Wow. That's almost as good as confirmation. Unfortunately, we have to break here. But we will pick up again after this short break."

* * *

Rory was still staring at the dedication when the commercials started up, lost in thought.

Soul mates? Did he really believe that?

She didn't miss that he neither confirmed nor denied it. Like Jane said, evasive as ever.

But he had sounded different there for a bit, almost...sad.

It was a split second decision, and then she was looking up the phone number to the show, while searching for her cell phone and dialing.

While waiting impatiently for the signals to go through, and her call to be picked up, her thoughts drifted back to the show.

And to what he had revealed about himself. It was a bit scary to hear what he had been battling, even if it sounded like he had found a way to control it.

And suddenly she saw things in a different light, things she had found strange back when they were dating finally made sense.

Like that night in Hartford when he suddenly realized he forgot something in the car when they were on their way to the movies. She had hardly registered the group of people emerging from a side street in front of them. Obviously he had.

And he had pulled her with him, only to emerge from the car with an apologetic smile and nothing found. She wonders now what he saw in those people. She only remembers high pitched laughter and a maybe not too steady gait.

She wondered now what it was he saw then. And she wondered what else she didn't know about his life in New York.

Then her call was put through, and she was talking to a man she presumed was the producer.

And then the break was over.


	6. Part 5 - Impact

**On The Radio**

* * *

 **Part 5 - Impact**

"Once more, welcome back to _The Book Club_. I am, as always, Jane Stanton, your host for this hour, and with me this week I have my childhood friend Jess Mariano."

"Are you implying I'm not your friend anymore?"

"Again, I suppose would be the correct term here."

"Sounds about right."

"So, we were talking about writing and the impact it had on your life. Care to elaborate?"

"I'm not quite sure what more there is to say."

"Well, we covered the fact that you've always been writing. How did that start?"

"I don't know really. At first it was mostly just notes in the margins of the books I read."

"Notes?"

"Yeah. It could be comments on the story, or underlining a phrase I liked, or disliked. Sometimes it was my own view of something that happened in the story, other times it was a comment on the language or word of choice. Usually they were very short. But when I got older, I sometimes wanted to write more, so I bought a notebook for those thoughts that didn't fit in the books themselves."

"And then it evolved?"

"Pretty much."

"When did you realize you had started writing something of your own?"

"When it was finished."

"Really?"

"More or less. I had spent a long time on the road, drifting from place to place, trying to find my place in the world. One day I found myself in a diner, and for once I opened my notebook and instead of writing I started reading."

"And there was a story?"

"More like the potential for one. I had just been writing, without really paying attention to what I was writing. Whenever something entered my mind, I had this urge to put it down on paper, so I did."

"Then what?"

"Then I sat there in that diner, reading this story I had written, and I couldn't believe I hadn't even recognized what I had been doing all that time."

"That's quite a story."

"I suppose."

"And then you found _Truncheon_?"

"No. Far from it."

"But, you said..."

"That came later. This was when I was back in New York for a couple months, about three, four years ago."

"You were here?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you stay?"

"It wasn't my city anymore. I came here as a last resort, thinking it could be home once more, but it just didn't feel right."

"You weren't the same as when you left."

"Yeah, that was part of it. It was a really bad time in my life, that year. I had managed to, one way or another, alienate almost every single person in my life, and I was just trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with my life."

"And you obviously did. So, what happened?"

"My uncle came to New York one day. And he really hates the city, usually avoids it like the plague. But he came, for me, and more or less dragged me back to Connecticut for my mother's wedding."

"He dragged you?"

"Figuratively. I actually drove myself there. But I wouldn't have gone back if it wasn't for him."

"How did he do that?"

"He gave me the mother of all guilt trips."

"Sounds like a backwards way of doing it."

"Maybe. But it worked. And I finally realized I had someone who actually cared about me, even after everything. I should've seen it sooner, but I was way too messed up back when I first got there to really appreciate it."

"Seventeen year old you didn't exactly take well to authorities, if I remember correctly."

"Not at all."

"But then what? You had found someone to rely on. Did you stay?"

"No. I don't think I could ever actually live in that town for real again. The occasional visit I can handle, but more than that? No."

"So, what happened then?"

"I went to try and patch things up with someone else, thinking I had all the answers."

"Is this someone who I think it is?"

"That depends on who you think it is."

"And you're not gonna answer me."

"I just did. You just weren't very clear in your question."

"And will my rephrasing it change anything?"

"I guess there's really only one way to find out."

"You're impossible."

"Thank you."

"Whatever. So, I'm guessing it turned south?"

"You could say that. My uncle actually gave me this self-help book while I was there. I think it helped him, and he thought it'd do the same for me."

"You read a self-help book."

"I did. Worst book I've ever read, but it did have some good points. And of course, I thought I knew everything then. Just like every other self-obsessed teenager. This was right before my twentieth birthday. So I went, and proceeded to make matters at least ten times worse than before."

"Wow."

"Yeah. I completely blew it, and it sucked, but I can't say I didn't deserve what happened. It definitely taught me humility. And I'd like to think I've become a better man since then, because of it."

"What did you do then?"

"I packed up my stuff, quit my job, sold my car and went back on the road. And kept writing. I bought a new notebook and started sorting out the story I had begun. And I liked it. I hitchhiked across the country, did odd jobs for food and a place to stay, and just kept writing. I had made it to Seattle and halfway back to the east coast when it started in on winter. I had gone through two more notebooks by that time, but was finished with the story, save some final editing. So I hitched a ride with a trucker going east, and by morning I found myself in Philadelphia."

"And the rest is history?"

"Pretty much. I helped the trucker switch loads, and he gave me some cash for food. I went to another diner, sat down in a booth with my notebook and a _Hemingway_ novel, and switched between editing the last part and reading my book, when these two guys came and sat down opposite me, claiming it was their booth."

"I'm guessing that was Matt and Chris."

"Yeah. I hardly had time to look up before one of them grabbed the book and the other the notebook. And they refused to give them back. Said it was my payment for stealing their spot."

"Quite the start to that friendship."

"You could say that. I was mad as hell, and the owner of the place just kept smiling knowingly, telling me to keep it down."

"And now you eat there all the time."

"Yeah, I do. Though it took me a while to go back the first time."

"So what did they say about your writing?"

"Honestly, they didn't say much. Just asked if I wrote it, then told me to follow them, and that's how I ended up at _Truncheon_."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah. It took me a while to figure out what they had in mind."

"And all because of a diner."

"Ironic, I know."

"But fitting."

"Yeah."

"And this leads us up to our next song. And this one is actually requested by one of our listeners."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And it came with a message. So, here is _Guns_ _of Brixton_ with _The_ _Clash_. From a listener who said to tell you: _I remember it too_."

"Huh."

* * *

Rory listened to the familiar song, remembering a night that seemed so long ago now, when everything had felt so simple. For just a moment she had known exactly what she wanted, and then her car was crashed, her wrist fractured, and Jess was gone.

That night had almost been like a short version of their time together. Little more than a year later their relationship had crashed, her heart was broken, and Jess was gone.

Then her phone beeped, interrupting the chorus of the song, and she almost dove for it.

There was a message from an unknown number, but she only had to read the first line to know who it was from.

 _I'm sorry. I'm trying to keep you out of it, but Jane has always been too nosy for her own good. I didn't mean to upset you with the dedication, I just wanted you to know you will always be important to me, even if it is only as a distant memory. And I appreciate your answer. That was a good night, despite the ending. And despite the obvious correlations to what happened later. For what it's worth, I'm sorry for everything. Take care. Jess_

She read the message four times before the song was over, and only then did she start to wonder where he got her phone number.

And then she realized she hadn't answered him. Quickly she typed up a reply, and sent it just as the program jingle ended, before she had the chance to change her mind.

 _I'm sorry too. And please, don't sensor yourself because of me. At least let me take some credit for your first book. ;) I miss you. Rory_

Then she sat holding her breath, her heart beating wildly, wondering what she had just done.


	7. Part 6 - Inspiration

**On The Radio**

 **A/N:** This is the last part of this little story. I wish all of my readers a Merry Christmas (or insert the holiday of your choice here), and I hope to catch you all after New Year's. Thank you for reading, and for the feedback.

* * *

 **Part 6 - Inspiration**

"For the last time today, welcome back to this weeks' interview in _The Book Club_. I am Jane Stanton, and with me I have Jess Mariano, author of the book _Contingent_ , and my old, and new, friend.

"Hello again."

"So, we ended the last part of the program with a request from a listener, who also had a message. Now, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't ask if that was the answer to your dedication we were talking about earlier."

"Yeah, it was."

"Wow, that was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I had half expected to have to drag any answer out of you."

"With the risk of repeating myself, life is all about surprises."

"And this was definitely one of them. So, why the change of heart? Any connection to the phone messages during the song?"

"You could say that."

"Now you're just mocking me."

"Sorry. Bad habit."

"Oh, don't I know it. But really, that song was from her?"

"Yeah."

"And the messages?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. This is better than I thought."

"Don't expect too much."

"You said yourself that she is no longer in your life."

"She isn't."

"So, what is she to you now?"

"My inspiration and motivation."

"I thought that was writing?"

"No, writing is the means. But there wouldn't be any writing without inspiration."

"Are you saying she's the reason you went from notes in the margins to writing your own stories?"

"Yeah, you could say that. She believed in me when no one else did, even myself."

"So she's the one who saved you from falling down the rabbit hole?"

"Yes."

"And now you haven't seen her in almost four years?"

"Not quite. We've seen each other a couple times since then, but now it's been a while."

"She's what set you on the path to writing this book, isn't she? She's what happened last spring."

"Yeah. She's been at the center of every major development in my life for the past six years. It's just the way it is."

"It is what it is."

"Yeah."

"And what do you think you are to her?"

"Hopefully, a not too painful memory."

"That's rather depressing, don't you think?"

"It's realistic."

"You really need to learn some positive thinking."

"Maybe. I just don't think I'm the positive type."

"And still, you wrote this book that's really, inherently positive."

"I did. But I also wrote _The Subsect_."

"And that is not exactly positive."

"No, not really. But I don't think you can really judge the author by his or her work. Just imagine how many truly horrific murderers there would be in the world if that were the case."

"You do have a point."

"And I think it all depends on how you view life in just that moment of writing. When I wrote the major parts of _The Subsect_ , I was at perhaps my lowest point ever. I think that reflects in the writing."

"To some extent, I have to agree. But at the same time, it is not completely black either. There is still some hope in there."

"There is. I don't think anything could work without any trace of hope. If you lose that completely, then what's the point?"

"And that's a major theme of your new book."

"It is. One of the things that connect all those people is the way they all still have that sense of hope for the future."

"Yeah."

"And I think that's important to hold on to. It doesn't matter how else you view the world, if you lose all hope for the future, then you're in trouble."

"Have you ever felt that?"

"I have."

"Oh. What happened?"

"It was on my first cross country trip. My life had become this big horrible mess, and I had run away from everything I knew because I was so terrified I didn't know what else to do. It was the last thing I should've done, but at the time, I didn't see that. When I finally figured it out, I just assumed it was too late to do anything about it. So I was on the wrong side of the country, chasing ghosts from my past, realizing I had single handedly ruined the best thing that ever happened to me. And all around there was the sand and beach and happy people of California. It was such a contrast to how I was feeling, and I think it broke me for a while."

"How did you get back up?"

"That day was when I started writing my first book."

"So writing was what helped you?"

"It was. Even though I wasn't really conscious of what I was writing. It loosened something in me, and I just went with it."

"Your own personal therapy."

"I guess you could say that."

"But you didn't try to go back and fix things?"

"I didn't. I still hadn't learned enough."

"And if you could go back?"

"Then I wouldn't have left. But you can't live like that. And if I hadn't left, I might not have started writing. And it could've gone all wrong some time later instead. Which is the whole point. You can't know what will happen in the future. You can only try to live now, and make the most of what you've got."

"Hence the realistic view on life."

"Exactly."

"Before we round up, I have to ask you something I ask everyone."

"Ok, shoot."

"If you could give one piece of advice to any aspiring author out there, what would it be?"

"Write. Don't think so much about what you're writing. Try different things, different styles, and just write. As much as you can. If there is a story inside of you, you will find it eventually. Or maybe it will find you."

"I like that. The story finding you."

"And remember that everyone is different. What works for one person, doesn't work at all for someone else."

"Do you have any specific traits as a writer?"

"I don't know. Probably that I prefer writing by hand. For me, it makes it more real, but it's a pain when it comes to editing."

"I can see your point. But, it seems to be working."

"So far, so good."

"Did you just reference Bryan Adams?"

"Unintentionally, but yes. I believe so."

"Weird."

"You said it yourself, I've mellowed since New York."

"True. And now, just because it's been bugging me. You said you haven't seen this woman more than a handful of times in the past almost five years. And yet, you have her number in your phone?"

"Actually, I didn't. I just happened to see it when I was last visiting my uncle. And I've got a pretty good memory when it comes to anything written."

"So it was just chance."

"Pretty much."

"And still you don't think it means anything?"

"That I can remember a phone number? Not really. I'm pretty sure I could still recite that awful book they made us memorize in middle school, and that note you left on my door when we were six. It's just how my mind works when it comes to anything written."

"I still say there's something there."

"That's your right."

"Anyway, it's been a pleasure having you here, and I think our listeners agree. We've gotten quite a lot of phone calls and emails during the show."

"Ok."

"And, quite a lot of them are wondering if you're having a signing while you're in the city."

"Actually, I am. There's one this afternoon in the Village, and one tomorrow at the Lower East Side. All details can be found on my publisher's web site."

"Perfect. But, I do hope I get a signed copy before you leave here."

"Of course."

"So, another thing our listeners want to know is, will you call that soul mate if yours?"

"I think that's none of their business."

"Well, whether you like it or not, you're a public figure now."

"Great."

"And a last question. Why is there no picture of you anywhere on your books?"

"Why should there be?"

"It's a well-known tactic to increase sales."

"Well, I'm not interested in people buying my book because of a picture, and I don't see how my picture would do anything for the sales anyway."

"I could give you a few reasons, but I respect your opinion."

"I just can't figure out why you'd want to buy a book based on how the author looks. That just sounds crazy to me. It's what's written inside that matters."

"I think we'll stop this here, and refer any of our listeners who are curious to come to the signings."

"And to read the book, if they haven't already."

"Absolutely. Everyone out there who hasn't already got a copy of Jess Mariano's book _Contingent_ , get one and read it now."

"Wow. Stern voice."

"Maybe it worked."

"Maybe."

"Well, our time here is up. So, thank you very much for coming. It's been fun, and interesting."

"Thank you."

"And thank you to all of my listeners. I will be back next week, with a new exciting author."

"I hope you pick someone good."

"Always."

* * *

Rory was sitting at the table, nervously fiddling with her phone, wondering what to do now. She had a new browser open on her computer, detailing two book signings in New York, and she kept making up excuses to be in the city.

At the moment she was trying to figure out what to tell her mother, who still wasn't home.

Then her phone chimed, announcing a new message, and she almost dropped it when trying to turn on the screen. Yup, she was definitely acting crazy.

 _Miss you too. I will call later, if you want me to. Jess_

She could feel herself smiling when she read the short message, and then she was typing.

 _I would like that. Have fun at the signing. Rory_

And that's when she made up her mind and pressed speed dial. Once more she waited impatiently for the signals to go through.

"Lorelai speaking."

"Hey mom."

"Oh. Hey sweets. Are you bored at home? I am so sorry about this. And I have no idea when I can get away from here. Do you want to come over for a while? It won't be the same, and I will probably be running around like crazy, but you can if you want. We rarely got to spend any time this weekend, and then you'll have to leave tonight."

"Mom, about that," Rory cut in, unable to keep a smile off her face at her mother's ramble.

"Uh, oh. Why do I sense you're about to say something I won't like?"

"Because I am," Rory confirmed, and then quickly continued. "I'm actually leaving now. And before you say anything, I am really sorry about this, but it's just something I have to do."

"Oh. Ok."

She could hear the disappointment in Lorelai's voice, and felt a little bad about it, but it didn't change her mind.

"I really am sorry."

"I know, hon. Now, this sudden change of heart wouldn't by any chance have anything to do with a certain author?"

On her end, Rory sputtered. "How did you know that?"

"Well, for a while now, Luke has been mentioning that he would be in New York this weekend, doing some promotion for that book of his, and he might have slipped in something about a certain radio program that I know you listen to, and I may have, just accidentally of course, tuned in for a bit."

Rory could feel herself turning crimson, and was suddenly glad she hadn't gone over to the Inn to do this. "How much did you hear?" she asked hesitantly.

"Enough to know that my suspicions from the last couple of months weren't unfounded."

"Right," Rory groaned.

"Rory, I want you to know that whatever you decide to do, I will support you."

"Thank you, mom."

"Now, how long have this been on your mind, really?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Maybe it never stopped. But at least the last couple of months, since I read his book. I only consciously realized it today."

"Classic case of Gilmore denial."

"You could say that."

"Well then, go, have fun, be safe. And I expect details later."

"Thanks mom. And of course."

"Bye babe."

"Bye mom."

Rory ended the call with a smile, and then hastily started collecting her things. The next bus going south was leaving at noon, and if she hurried, she could make it.

She arrived fifteen minutes later, out of breath, and just in time. After paying the fare, she slumped down in a window seat, and closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath.

She was going to New York, to try and find Jess. This scenario somehow seemed both entirely new, and at the same time entirely familiar.

The bus was halfway to New Haven before she realized she was smiling.


End file.
